Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Who Taught You How To Drive?

Morning Readers,

    If you ask him, Husband probably won't readily admit it, but I've saved us from at least two different accidents in the time we've known each other. After a shopping trip one year, I pulled myself away from deciding how many Christmas gifts I'd keep for myself, just long enough to let out a super-sonic scream and alert Husband to the fact we were about to slide into a much nicer car. *stopping to high five myself*. A few weeks ago, same situation, sans presents. Safety Sue strikes again and manages to stop Husband from running into a car on our way to the ballpark. (I'm now crying because I'm so moved by my service to humanity). So why is it he still thinks I'm the bad driver? This past weekend I weighed the facts.

*Gasp*

      A quick inhalation of breath and snow-white knuckles are trademarks of  riding with my soul mate. While careening down the highway, I usually shut my eyes, wrap my fingers around something stationary and pray for it to be over. He wants to make conversation about something like sports.

"How can you be talking about baseball?" I want to scream. "You and I are two, jet-black bats from hell, flying into the sweet hereafter. Can you tap dance into the Danger Zone when I'm not here, Ice Man?"

     He usually smiles and ignores me. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

     "Nothing. I've only got five minutes to live...tops."

     "Chicken?"

     "When we get to Heaven I'll be asking for steak. Thank-you-very-much.."

     Do we normally make it to our destination? Yes. Am I allowed to complain about how we got there? No. It's unfair really. Somehow, if I happen to bring up the fact he thinks he hit the Samsara Circle of Life jackpot and came back as a Kamikaze pilot, Husband manages to turn my driving record on me. My perfect driving record:

Exhibit A.) I can't park. Ok, I'll admit it, I can't, but that's not a moving violation. Husband likes to point out it's not normal to look for a parking spot, only to pull-over, change seats and let him look for something he can parallel park in. "How can you not parallel park?", I'm asked.

"I have you." I answer.

Exhibit B.) I've totaled my car. Yes, but that rain came out of nowhere, making the road wet and stuff. Can an innocent person really be asked to drive in weather? May the Honda rest in peace.

Exhibit C.) I've gotten speeding tickets. But to be fair, all those times, I was only trying to break the Sound Barrier, for scientific purposes. It wasn't until much later I was informed this had already been done. I blame Google search recognition. Nothing ever came back for "breaking sound bears".

Exhibit D.) I'm not "aggressive enough". I wasn't aware I was supposed to don my pro-wrestling costume every time I got behind the wheel. I've tried to get angry. I can't. Cutting people off isn't my strong suit. And I just don't have it in me to roll down my window and shout, "Get outta my way, Brother!", at little old ladies who don't know their turn signal's on. I'll keep doing things the way I always do, signing "I love you" to people who cut me off and taking a quick poll of the cars behind me, as to whether I should merge or not.

    I don't think the debate will ever be settled between Husband and I. In our heads, we're both the better driver. And I have a feeling this won't be last word on the subject. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go get ready. It's time to re-new my license, and I need to look good for the DMV.

Until Next Time, Readers!